Rainbow In The Wastes
by DeadlyArbitrero
Summary: The Capital Wasteland. The post-apocalyptic hellhole that was once the prosperous city of Washington D.C. The Lone Wanderer, one Carter Thompson, is the Messiah of The Wastes, having shut down the Enclave's presence in D.C., taken down numerous and large threats, and activating Project Purity and giving the Wasteland clean, fresh water. So yeah, he's seen it all...not really.
1. Surprise, Surprise

The door to the Arlington Library swung open with a _bang_, startling the unexpecting ghouls inside the building. As the entrance slammed into the adjacent wall- hitting a surprised ghoul behind it in the process- the light of the coming dawn fell onto the inhabitants, momentarily blinding them as they hissed at their enemy and reeled. In the open doorway stood a tall, unmoving figure. Blinking their eyes, the zombified humans rushed their attacker, roaring with rage. As a ghoul got close to the entrance, almost completely covered in sunlight, a sharp object stabbed through the shade, twisting and turning in the unfortunate ghoul it happened to crash into. As blood and brain mixed together in a kind of sick blender, the blade withdrew, bringing with it a sample of its new mix with a sickening _shlip_.

The now dead ghoul's companions growled in anger at their comrades demise, and bum-rushed the unwelcome guest as a whole. A new item, one with a long barrel at the end, emerged from the strangers hip. He held it with one hand, turned to his side, aimed, and fired off six shots. Body after body joined the already dead ghoul on the floor, creating a very large mess consisting of blood, bone, and brain tissue. As the pool continued to spread throughout the floor, the shadow walked in menacingly, a scoped revolver in his right hand and a Bowie knife in his left. Lightly sploshing the pool beneath his armored feet, he adjusted his duster, careful not to mess with the various pouches full of deadly explosives. Observing the gruesome puddle before him, he couldn't help but crack a smile.

He cautiously lifted his foot, stepping over the mess hell-bent on staining his duster. Chuckling darkly, he maneuvered around the front desk, not even giving the dead body bent over the terminal a second look as he continued on through the building, ascending the staircase with a wheeze. Standing in the middle of the floor at the top, he looked to his left, stumped. To his right were two doorways, one with an intact door and one lacking, and a still-standing water fountain. To his left was a single door, an old wooden one with a rusty knob dangling from a hole.

_Eenie meenie miny moe._ His imaginary arrow landed on the doorway to his far right, and as he walked toward it, he swore he could feel eyes boring into the back of his head. Ignoring his twitchy Wasteland instincts, the Lone Wanderer calmly walked through the door's threshold, checking the hallway for any hostiles. Seeing none, his green eyes landed upon a door on the right side of the hallway, shut tight with a single wooden block barring the metal lever that crudely replaced the knob. Eyes narrowing, the man slowly walked toward it, bowie knife held in a ready-to-stab postion and revolver pointed at the suspicious door. Stalking toward it, he opened it with his left hand after depositing the blade into the steel grip of his teeth. Jumping in with a flash and a flick of his head, the Wanderer was stunned to find a well-armored defense inside.

Eyes widening in unexpected astonishment, his eyes wandered the various racks of weapons and ammo that lined the room. A desk with a computer lay dust-covered in the right corner, covering up the obvious pile of grenades buried beneath a hand-made tarp fashioned from remains of leather bandoliers. A gun cabinet stood proudly in the leftmost corner of the room, a lightbulb dangling from the ceiling giving the whole room a sort of eerie feeling. Taking one step forward, he gasped in awe at what he saw to his right: a large painting of Pre-war D.C. hung on the wall, blocking the view of the various whiteboards of scratched out formulas next to it. A ragged map was taped to the bottom, and upon closer inspection, the Lone Wanderer found it was a map of the entire D.C. area. Placing his hand on his chin and bending down onto his haunches, he saw that a large red **X** was placed over the location he was currently in: the Arlington Library.

The Lone Wanderer squinted in curiosity as he leaned in more. Once he did, he was able to see more clearly some writing that covered the key, hastily drawn and sloppy, as if made by a five year old with arthiritis.

Large library with good, defendable rooms. Will try to scour around the areas around here, see if I can find anything interesting.

Blinking in realization at the writing, he considered what could've left it. _Definitely not raiders, wouldn't've survived the Muties by now. Not the Muties either, don't know how to write. Brotherhood wouldn't need to scour areas unless for technological reasons, but they've almost wiped the city clean of technology by now. Which means...it's not something normal._

As he slowly got up, his eyes widened in split-second fear as he heard a loud _click_ from behind him. Glaring, he quickly turned around, Blackhawk in hand as he stared down his enemy. Only, it wasn't something you would normally see in the Wasteland. Or, more specifically, **anywhere**. Because what had startled the Wanderer was not a Super Mutant, it was not a drug-addicted Raider, it most definitely was not one of his Power-Armored comrades. No, what was aiming a polished .44 revolver with a special handle was no Wasteland inhabitant. Not at all.

It was a pony.

It stared him down, deep magenta irises glaring up at him as if it was waiting to pull the trigger. The pony's light blue fur was rather hard to see underneath the dried blood spots matted all over its body and face. A white bandana only slightly hid the fresh blood that was very slowly oozing out of a cut along the right side of its face. The cloth pushed its...multi-colored mane back atop its head, giving it a kind of "blast-back hair style". It wore a heavily modified version of an XXXXXS set of reinforced leather armor, and a leather bandolier lined with a long row of magnum rounds was tightly strapped over her chest as it stood on its hind legs. A bloodied rainbow colored tail swished back and forth idly from her rear.

The two combatants' stare-off seemed to last for hours as two revolvers aimed at each other, both still as mice. The pony broke into a cocky smirk, still brandishing the glare as its right hoof holding its firearm remained steady. Remaining like this, it broke the suspensful silence with two lingering words:

"Surprise, surprise."


	2. Introductions

The man continued his relentless stare attack with his opponent, never breaking eye contact as he blinked in surprise. The pony before him just grinned mischieviously at him as he slowly shook his head with a smile. The Lone Wanderer slowly lowered Blackhawk, letting his entire head go limp as he broke into a low chuckle, which then grew into a hearty laugh as he gripped his side with his left hand. The rainbow-maned pony tried to keep her cool as she too was affected by the infectious laughing. Feigning a low chuckle, she allowed her eyes to throw themselves from the left to the right of her eyesocket, looking for a way to stop the awkward setting of the whole scene.

Not seeing any, her brow involuntarily began to sweat, her nervous fluids visibly running down her forehead from underneath her make-shift bandana. The man, through half closed eyelids, noticed her obviously uncomfortable demeanor, immediatly stopping his chortle. This only served to further panic the mare, who raised her gun suddenly, aiming at her opponents chest. Shutting her eyes, she pushed the trigger, waiting for the repeatedly rehearsed sound of a dead man wailing.

The mare opened her eyes slowly, expecting to see the man dead on the ground. Instead, the Lone Wanderer stood in front of her, an impatient look in his eyes, and arms akimbo.

"Wha-what?"

"As you can clearly see, the rather rude shot you attempted to fire off has sadly been misplaced," he stated darkly, holding six rounds of .44 ammo in his hands. "Though you caused no damage, I reccomend you not do that again, it happens to not end well, as my very thirsty knife is telling me," he said, tracing his finger over said knife as he told her this.

Suppressing the growing lump in her throat, the mare placed her hoof on the trigger again, ready to aim yet another shot at her rather...creepy opponent. The Wanderer yet again noticed this movement, staring daggers at the pony as he continued sliding his finger across his bowie knife's blue blade. His glare seemed to drill deep into her soul, and she began to contemplate running away as she couldn't help but blink helplessly back at the very angry man. It seemed to bear magical powers, as the mare could feel her right foreleg slowly retracting back to her body as she fell back to her haunches in fright.

The pony slid her gun across the ground, obviously terrfied for her easily takable life. The Lone Wanderer could feel the fear on his opponent, sitting there helplessly as she stared at him, hooves and head pressed tightly against the wall next to the still open door. The pony waited for it all to end. Waited for the chance to be reunited with her friends. Eyes shut tightly, the mare was greeted with a light tap on her shoulder. The pony expected the usual knife against her throat, but was instead treated to a crouched, old man with her modified revolver in his hands, grip facing her. Immediately pretending her panic attack didn't transpire, she reluctantly accepted her firearm back from her foe.

Facing the strangely calming face, she gave a little smile that silently said _thanks for not killing me_. The man gave her a smile in return, which gave the mare a rather odd yet peaceful feeling about the whole ordeal. She still didn't trust the bastard, but at least he wasn't planning to kill, rape, and eat her (in that order).

The lamp over the duo's heads grew brighter as the Lone Wanderer flicked a second switch on the wall, shining more light into the previously dimmed room. Looking at the unopened weapons locker, the Wastelander swiftly turned his head to his comrade, pantomiming picking the lock. Shaking her head, she stalked toward it, eying it suspiciously. Rearing up on her hind legs, the mare aimed, breathed in...

And brought the bottom end of the grip down on the chain, shattering it into oblivion and throwing the pieces around the room. Not noticing the interested look on the Wanderers face, she leaned down and stuck her head into the now open space where the door once lay. The Wanderer too tilted toward the enticing sight, getting down on his haunches to match the mares eye level. His eyes grew wide as he noticed the surplus amount of C4 inside, audibly cheering in the form of LED lights and loud beeps.

The mare swept her wing inside, tenderly placing them over her primaries, obviously oblivious to the danger they posed. Eyes shut and a cocky grin on her face, she walked toward the far corner of the room, standing motionless as she waited for something. The Wanderer apparently didn't understand, and the mare allowed her left eye to open in annoyance as she stared blankly at him. She sighed deeply, blew an orange fetlock out of her hair, and pointed her eyes toward a locker to her left. Resuming her pose from before, the Wanderer noticed the now apparent note stuck on the front of it.

If you're not going to kill me, I am currently waiting for you to push this to the front and to the left of me.

Brow furrowing in irritation, the Wastelander threw his shoulder into the side of it, slowly pushing it toward the location. As he did so, he could just barely hear the tell tale sound of creaking wood, and with a mighty shove, the locker fell through a hole in the ground, crashing into what sounded like water as the dust settled above. The mare stood on her hind legs, arms akimbo and a heroic looking grin on her face. The man didn't get it, and stared down the hole...

And straight into the eyes of a small band of raiders, whom were rudely awoken by the sudden hole in their ceiling. Unholstering their weapons, they began to fire at the intruder, bullets flying past him and into the wall adjacent of him. They, of course, had rather faulty aim. As the Wanderer prepared to fire a shot from Blackhawk, the mare next to him calmly trotted over to the hole, extended her wing, and threw the high explosives into the party. Wails of fear echoed throughout the room as the C4 sailed easily down the small hole, unable to be shot around with the gaps small walls. Nearing the bottom, the screams grew louder and louder, until they were mercilessly drowned out by the loud sound of the long awaited explosion.

Still smiling innocently, the mare didn't steal a single glance back at the plume of smoke that lifted up from the now larger hole, small bits of blood and body parts flying out with fragments of debris from the affected area. The Wanderer just stared wide-eyed at the thought of how easy it was for this...pony to do that. Turning his head slowly, he was met with the sight of said pony reloading her revolver, placing bullet after bullet from her clenched teeth to the empty hole of the cylinder as it rotated with the touch of a button. Raising his finger as if to talk, the mare spoke instead,

"Those guys are terrible whisperers; heard them yabbering on and on and on about eating me. That hole? Been there for awhile. Just thought I'd lift it up a bit and make it less noticeable to the naked eye. Smart, huh?"

"Wait, so if it's been there for awhile, that means-"

"Eeyup," she replied, mimicking her coltfriends signature phrase, "I've been in this hellhole for...uh...lemme think now... Uhhhh, oh! Four weeks. Four. Weeks. How's that for awesome?" she asked, lifting up into the air slightly as she crossed her arms in a prideful pose. Mouthing _damn_, the Wanderer walked over to his comrade and threw out a hand.

Opening one eye, she glared and grinned at him, and with her right foreleg in the air, she shook the man's hand, lightly crushing it in the process. Growling in playful competition, the Wanderer squeezed back, much harder than the mare had with him. She still smiled, undaunted by the hundreds of pounds of pressure against her hoof. Giving a nod of approval, the Wanderer withdrew, the mare following his movement. After a moment of silence, the two looked at each other, smiles etched onto their faces.

"So, a badass pony with a rainbow mane. Don't see those kinds of colors 'round here," he stopped, holding his hand to his mouth as he coughed loudly, "but it's a very welcome change to the gloominess surrounding this place. Name?"

"Rainbow Dash. Yours?"

"Carter. Carter Thompson. Pleasure to meet you, you crazy, crazy son of a bitch."

Rainbow only smiled back at the comment.


End file.
